Crown of Destiny

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HE HAD KILLED HER WITH HIS BARE HANDS. ACTUALLY he had used only one hand. His long elegant fingers closing about her slim white throat, squeezing, squeezing, until the terror in her dark eyes had faded away to nothingness. She had failed him. He had forgiven her the first time. And the second. But when a third mating season frenzy had come upon him, and she failed yet again, there had been no other choice open to him. Her delicious darkness had attracted him, but she was nothing more than a fertile field in which to plant the seed that would become his son. And after the child was born he had intended killing her anyway.

Now at least he would not have to listen to her foolish ambitions. Or her harping at him to leave the Dark Lands and go out to conquer Hetar. She had never understood that for his conquest to succeed they must be patient, and rebuild his armies. They had time, and this time the darkness would overcome the light. But Ciarda had never accepted the fact that women were for nothing more than pleasures and babies. She wanted to be part of his eventual conquest, foolish creature! Her inability, however, to give him his heir had been her downfall. He had thought she was the one. She had believed she was.

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